


Anniversary

by Mouse9



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-02-26 03:30:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13227192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mouse9/pseuds/Mouse9
Summary: Molly reflects on conversations between she and Mary regarding one consulting Detective.





	1. Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary (TST)

“Mary, Mary quite contrary, how does your garden grow?”

“Ugh!  I’ve always hated that blasted nursery rhyme.”  Mary frowned down at the small patch of ground just outside the Watson’s flat, knees covered in dirt, gardening gloves on hands holding a trowel and packet of seeds.  “Remind me again whose brilliant idea it was to plant a bloody herb garden in the fall?”

Molly pulled the pack of seeds out of Mary’s hands with a grin and began digging into the ground.  “That would be yours.  Healthy eating and all that since there’s going to be a babe by this time next year.”

“Ugh!  Whose brilliant idea was it to get pregnant?”

Molly’s smile dimmed slightly.  “Um, that was just blind luck I’m afraid.”

“Blind luck,” Mary snorted, digging her trowel furiously into the ground.  “Sheer stupidity on my part, is more like it.  I’m always cautious, I have to be given what I did.  And now here I am, knocked up with no husband and…”  Her voice choked, and Molly dropped her trowel, scrambling to reach over and hug her friend to her as she stifled back tears.”

“It’ll be okay,” Molly soothed, rubbing Mary’s back.  “John will come to his senses any time now and come back begging for forgiveness.  He will, I promise.”

Mary pulled away and pulled off her gloves, wiping at her eyes.  “Sorry, I’m being daft.”

“You aren’t.”  Molly insisted.  “You’re entitled to have a crying jag or five.”

Mary laughed, her eyes still tear filled. She looked up at Molly who was peering at her worriedly.  “How can you not hate me as much as John does?”

“John doesn’t hate you.”

“You know that, do you?”

“Yes.”  She was so convinced that Mary’s tears dried after a moment.  She tilted her head. 

“Go on then, why are you so convinced that John doesn’t absolutely hate me?”

Molly smiled.  “He hasn’t filed for divorce.”

The reason was so absurd that Mary couldn’t help but laugh.  “Yet.”

“Ever.  The fact that he’s doing nothing but pouting at Baker Street and pretending you don’t exist instead of going to solicitor and filing papers for a divorce means everything.”

Mary struggled to her feet.  Molly climbed to her feet first and held out a hand to help Mary up.  Her bump wasn’t huge yet, but it was pronounced enough to keep her off balance.   She stood and stretched her back watching Molly gather all the gardening supplies and wipe loose dirt from her knees. They walked back into the flat. 

“Molly, I am an ex-assassin and ex-military. I lied to him about my background.”

“So? John is ex-military.  His best friend is a sociopath who solves crimes as an alternative to getting high.”

 “I shot his best friend.  Which bring me back to my original question, why aren’t you angry with me?”

Molly shrugged as she shut the door to the flat and dropped the dirty tools into the basket by the door.

“Sherlock forgave you.  Since he’s the injured party why should I still be angry with you?  Besides, you’ve just succeeded in doing what, I think, everyone who ever knew him has wanted to do at one time or another.”

Mary laughed, pulling Molly in for another hug.   “God, you’re brilliant.  I really hope Sherlock gets his head out of his arse regarding you.”

Molly shook her head as they separated.  “We’re just friends Mary.”

“Friends don’t stare as if they’re dying and the other is glass of the water.”

Molly frowned.  “I don’t do that.  At least I don’t think I do.”

Mary glanced back at her with just the slightest smirk on her lips.  “I wasn’t talking about you.  Tea?  I’m gagging for a cuppa, and maybe a few of those chocolate biscuits I bought the other day.’

Molly stood there, Mary’s words swirling around her brain.  She blinked and hurried into the kitchen to find out just what Mary knew.

 

* * *

 

_Mary, Mary, quite contrary, how does your garden grow?_

The nursery rhyme repeated in her thoughts, over and over again as she stared at the gravesite.  John was on his knees in front of her, his hand resting on the casket before it was lowered into the ground.  Little Rosie was cuddled in her arms, bundled up in her onesie bear coat that Mary loved, sound asleep against her chest.

It wasn’t fair.  Mary didn’t even get to have six months with her daughter, barely two months before she was taken away.  All because some stupid woman who tried to kill Mary once, came back to finish the job herself.  She honestly wished that Vivian Norbury rotted in whatever prison cell Mycroft Holmes designed to put her in, never again to see the light of day.  Just like Mary wouldn’t.

She knew John was distraught, grieving, needed someone to blame, but blaming Sherlock wasn’t the way.  Yes, he opened his mouth.  Yes, he pulled his usual talking way too much until someone wanted to shoot him.  But Mary didn’t have to jump in front of him.  She chose to.  Just like Molly could almost positively say that had she been there, she would’ve done the same thing.  As would John, were the situation different and Mary had stayed to wait for her that fateful night.   Sherlock had so many people who wanted to hit him, but those same people would also take a bullet for him with no complaints.  He didn’t ask for them, they just all came together. 

Against her chest, Rosie sighed in sleep.  Molly hefted her up closer to her to keep her warm.  She glanced around the funeral goers. Mrs. Hudson was crying quietly into a handkerchief, Greg’s arm wrapped around her.  Mycroft stood towards the back, the black three-piece suit blending in with the black around them.  Their eyes met, and Mycroft glanced towards his right.  Molly followed his gaze and spotted Sherlock standing a little behind a tree watching the entire funeral.  Her heart broke for him.  He loved Mary, possibly as much as John and he wasn’t allowed at the funeral.  It wasn’t fair.  But then, there was nothing fair about this entire thing.

The nursery rhyme that had been running through her mind changed as she watched Sherlock stare at Mary’s coffin.

_Ashes, ashes, we all fall down._


	2. Climbing Out (TLD)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly remembers a conversation with Mary as she "Sherlock" sits the Detective through his latest, and hopefully last, withdrawal.

“That was one hell of a slap Molly.”

Her hands were shaking.  _Testosterone levels are decreasing, cortisol levels increasing, adrenaline boost is wearing off._

She burst into tears. 

“Oh no, hey!”  Mary hurried over to her, wrapping her arms around her.  “None of that.  The prat deserved it and more.  I was just teasing.”

“Sorry, sorry.  I don’t know why I’m crying.”  She wiped her eyes, pulling away from the woman.  “He just makes me so mad sometimes.”

“Sweetie, he makes everyone angry sometimes.  He wouldn’t be Sherlock if he didn’t.”

“I just don’t know why he does that to himself.  Why?  He’s been doing so well for years now, what set him off?”

Mary’s look was gentle as she held onto Molly’s hand.  “He’s an addict, Molly.  One never knows what triggers an addict.  All we can do is be there for them when they finally hit the bottom and are trying to climb out.”

Molly sniffed, looking up at Mary.  The woman’s eyes told her there was a story behind what she was saying, one that didn’t involve one Sherlock Holmes. 

“H-how do we know?”  she asked, quietly.  “When they are trying to climb out?”

“Trust me Molly Hooper,” she said.  “You’ll know.”

 

* * *

 

 

Molly took the tea tray back into the kitchen to wash up as Sherlock Holmes shivered under three blankets on the couch.  It’s been three days of withdrawals, three days after the injuries he’d suffered at Mile End Hospital by Culverton Smith and John Watson.   Injuries that normally would need morphine, yet Sherlock had insisted he wanted nothing more than paracetamol for the pain.

He seemed to have hit rock bottom, truly he looked as if he were right there when she’d met him in front of the address he’d given her two weeks before, he looked like death warmed over in the ambulance.  He wasn’t repentant when she’d hissed her anger at him during their ten-minute ride, merely told her he was doing this for a case and he couldn’t stop now.  This time she hadn’t slapped him, although she’d dearly wanted to.  She’d merely taken a blood sample, insisted on having the list and tried to get some electrolytes into him before they arrived at the BBC building.

Now…

Rinsing her hands and drying them off on the nearby tea towel, she left the kitchen to return to the sitting room.  Sherlock was still lying on the couch, curled in a ball, the covers fisted in his hands and curled under his chin.  His hair was a sweaty mess, his face still sallow but his eyes were closed, and he was sleeping fitfully.

Falling exhausted into John’s old chair, she silently watched him sleeping for a while, his brow furrowing in sleep, body twitching with withdrawal. Every once in a while, a pained whimper would slip from his lips. He wasn’t out of the woods yet, but he was getting better.  Picking up her book, she turned her attention to the words in her romance novel, getting sucked into the fluffy sweetness of the CIA operative and the pastry chef.

 

The sound of gagging pulled her out of her book almost an hour later.  Sherlock was rolled over on the couch dry heaving into the bucket she’d placed by the couch as he slept.    Closing her book, she hurried towards him as he rolled back onto his back with a pained grimace. 

“Here,” she said quietly, trying not to break the quiet of the flat.  “Drink some water.”

He opened pain filled eyes to look up at her and her heart cracked. 

“You’re still here.”  He rasped through chapped lips.  She picked up the glass and knelt, moving the bucket away so she could lift the glass of water to his lips.  He raised his head enough to drink a bit before falling back against the couch. 

“Do you need more paracetamol?”  she asked.  He swallowed and shook his head.

“Two more hours.  I can wait two more hours.”

“I wish you’d take something stronger."  She said, her hand lifting to run through his sweat soaked curls.  “You could at least take advantage of the fact I’m offering you pain pills.”

“No.”  He swallowed again and closed his eyes.  "I said no more, and I meant it.  Taking any type of opioids now will only increase my withdrawal time.  This is painful enough, I’ve no wish to extend it.”

“Is there anything I can do?”  she asked. 

He sighed, his body wracked with another tremor.  “Believe it or not, you’re doing it.  Keep doing that, please.  I find it calming.”

She blinked, surprised to find she’d been gently stroking his hair and even more surprised that he liked it. 

She climbed to her feet.  “Budge up a mo.” 

She helped him sit up enough so she could sit on the couch and put the pillow on her lap, allowing his head to rest on it.  Tucking the blankets back around him tightly, she rested one hand on his blanket covered shoulder and went back to stroking his hair with the other.  He let out a sigh, his body relaxing into the couch and her. 

“Sleep.  Just relax and try to sleep.  I’ll wake you for your next dose, but for now, just rest.”  
He rubbed his face into the pillow and within minutes his breathing had leveled out and slowed.  She took advantage of the quiet to just sit there, the weight of him around her and continued running her fingers through his hair. 

A noise caught her attention and she looked up at Mary standing beside John’s chair smiling at her. 

_“I told you, Molly Hooper,”_ she said.  _“You’d know.”_


	3. Anniversary (TFP)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a year. One year since that fateful phone call. And, of course, Mary would get the final word.

“God how I’ve missed wine.”

Molly giggled as she picked up the bottle and emptied the remaining contents into Mary’s wine glass. Mary covered a sputtered laugh with her free hand.

“No!  We’re out?”

Molly lifted a fresh bottle from the bag she’d brought with her and Mary laughed in triumph. 

“I figured we’d make quick work of the first bottle, so I brought along three.”

Mary’s grin was side as she lifted her glass in a toast towards Molly. 

“To my darling Molly, for being clever enough to bring more than one bottle.”

“I’ll drink to that.”  Molly returned the toast and finished the remaining fourth of her glass.  She picked up the corkscrew and began opening the second bottle.

“We might have to slow down a bit.”  Mary leaned back against the couch, and took a long drink of her wine.  “Unless you plan on sleeping over tonight.  Which I have absolutely no problem with, you know you are welcome here any time.  Rosie adored you.”

She took another drink as Molly filled her own glass again. 

“Rosie is only a month old, she doesn’t adore anyone except her mummy and daddy.”

“Pfthththth…Rosie adores her Auntie Molly.  Because Auntie Molly makes her laugh and tickles her toes and doesn’t call her a monster behind her back.”

Molly set the bottle down on the table between them and leaned back on the couch looking at Mary. 

“Auntie Molly also isn’t running on three hours of sleep in four days because said little angel had croup.”

“Ugh!”  Mary groaned, half sprawled on the couch.  “I am so glad that’s over.  But she’s at least sleeping four hours a night now.  That’s an improvement.”

Molly smiled, taking a drink from her own glass. 

‘It’s nice of John to take Rosie out with him so you could have some free time.”

“It was his idea to have a girl’s night in.  And he only took her to Baker Street.”  She struggled to sit up and pointed a finger at her amused friend. “In fact, I bet Rosie’s with Mrs. Hudson right now, being spoiled rotten while her father is upstairs with her posh, incredibly fit Godfather, going over cases or whatever those two do when they’re alone.”  She fell into fits of giggles.

“Mary!”  Molly exclaimed before falling into her own fits of giggles.  Mary wagged a finger at her. 

“You get your mind out of the gutter right now, Molly Hooper.”

“I know what they get up to when they’re alone.”  Molly cleared her throat to at least pretend as if she were being serious.  But the blasted giggles kept coming back.  “John sits in his chair and reads the paper, sometimes, surfs his phone for cases, sometimes, he writes his blog.  Sherlock usually tries to blow up his kitchen if he’s not composing.”

“Lord, they’re boring!”  Mary exclaimed loudly, picking up the bottle and refilling her glass.  “You think two men like that would get up to way more trouble.”

Molly took another drink and then studied her half full glass.  “When did John say he was getting back?”

“Probably not for a couple more hours.  At least enough time to get Rosie a bath and put her to bed.  Both of which he will have to do as I’m not sure I’ll be steady enough to help with.”  Mary gave a mischievous grin.  “I may have to thank him tonight.”

Molly burst out laughing.  “Mary, I don’t care to hear about your conquests with John Watson.”

Mary’s grin grew devilish.  “Really?  You were never intrigued by Three Continents Watson.’

“Nope.”  She answered, popping her P.  “For all the good it’s done me, I’ve always been interested in his posh, incredibly fit friend.”

Mary leaned forward, her free hand coming to rest on the leg Molly had curled under her.  “Don’t think I didn’t see you two at Rosie’s christening.  Acting like an old married couple.  You’re the only person who could get him to put up his mobile.”

“It was behind his back.  I didn’t get him to do anything. I’ve never been able to do anything he doesn’t want to.”  She took of drink of her wine. “I really don’t know where people get the idea that I’m the Sherlock whisperer.”

Mary fell back onto the couch, laughing loudly and almost spilling her wine in the process. 

“Oh, that’s clever.”  She said, as she tried to catch her breath.  “I’m going to have to remember that.” 

Molly shook her head as she took another drink.

“But Molly, my darling,” Her grin was contagious.  “You are.   I’ve said it before, one day Sherlock Holmes is going to get his head out of his arse and tell you how he feels.  It’s as plain as the nose on his face and neither of you see it.”

Molly picked up the bottle again.  “I think you need to be cut off.  I’ve said it before; Sherlock and I are just friends.  He doesn’t feel that way about me, he’ll never feel that way about me.  And I…I’m okay with that.”

“No, you aren’t.”

Molly just smiled and raised her glass in silent acknowledgement.  With a sigh Mary leaned over and planted a loud kiss on Molly’s forehead. 

“One day Molly Hooper,” she said as she leaned back onto the couch.  “You both are going to be proved wrong and I only hope I’m there to say, ‘I told you so’.” 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Molly noticed Sherlock getting fidgety three days before the date, as if he was preparing himself for any eventuality.

It started in the lab.  She only stepped out to get a horrid vending machine coffee, it was honestly the only thing she had time for, only to be stopped by a man in a dark suit blocking her path.  Her heart slammed against her chest and she stumbled back into the lab, reaching for the closest thing she could find to defend herself, a scalpel.

Seven minutes later, Sherlock was racing down the hall bellowing at her to put down the scalpel, for God’s sake, the poor guy was only security for her, not a criminal sent to kill her. 

Said security guy was positioned behind a metal table, watching the small pathologist warily.

As Sherlock received a dressing down by her, informing him that she did not need a security detail thank you very much, she could take care of herself well enough, the poor security guy slipped out of the hospital and down to the local coffee shop for a large latte and a muffin as sort of an apology for terrifying her and not informing her himself that he was sent to watch her, instead assuming, foolishly, that someone would have told her he was going to be there.

Sherlock, however, took the entire dressing down silently, allowing her to say everything she needed before trailing off both having said everything she wanted and perplexed because that never happened before.

Once she fell silent, he nodded, bent to drop a kiss on her lips and told her the security detail’s name was Rodney and she needed him for anything to text him. Then he was gone, leaving poor Rodney, the security detail, with his peace offering of coffee and a muffin.

 

 

At her flat, his gaze followed her everywhere.  She always felt as if she were being watched.  He watched her to go the loo, leaning bare chested against her headboard, looking better than he had any right to look after just waking up.

He watched her move from the kitchen to the sitting room, sitting on the couch, his phone in her hand so every time she looked over, she couldn’t tell if he was actually watching her or if she were going mad.  She knew he was watching her, she could feel his gaze in the center of her back, like a weight.

Finally, she gave up, coming back into the sitting room with two mugs of tea.  Setting them both down on the coffee table, she grabbed her book, sat down and leaned against Sherlock’s side, curling up and getting comfortable.  After a few moments, his arm moved to wrap around her and pull her against his chest as he typed on his phone one handed. 

“Better?”  she finally asked.

The only response she received was a lingering press of his lips against her temple.  Getting comfortable she picked up her book thinking that if she had to be watched twenty-four/seven, this right here wasn’t a bad way to suffer through it.

 

 

The day of the anniversary he was practically her shadow.  From the time she woke up to the time she walked into Bart’s to start her shift, he was right beside her, like an annoying bodyguard that wouldn’t go away.

He stayed in the lab with her, working on his own experiments quietly in the corner where he wasn’t in the way but still within sight distance of her.  He followed her to the women’s, waiting just inside the door, he followed her to the commissary, paying for her coffee. 

Finally, in the lift back down to the basement she confronted him. 

“Don’t you have a case or something to work on?  I know your mobile has been going off, I’ve heard it vibrating in your pocket.”

“Not today,” he said, pulling out the aforementioned mobile and briefly checking the messages.  “I’ve already told Lestrade I’m not available today.  He understands.”

Molly sighed.  “Sherlock.  Go solve a case.  I don’t know why you’re hanging around the lab when you could be doing something exciting like solving a locked room murder or something.”

It was his turn to sigh.  Reaching over, he pushed the emergency stop button. 

“Sherlock what…”

“Molly, do you know what today is?”

“Monday?”

His eyes closed briefly in frustration and she nudged his shoulder.  “Yes, I remember what today is.”

“It’s the day my sister tried to murder you.”

She smiled up at him.  “I prefer to think of it as the day you told me, against your better judgement, that you loved me.”

“Stop quoting Austen at me.”

Her smile grew wider.  “I love the fact that you knew I was quoting Austen to you.”

He pulled her into his arms, holding her tight against his chest.  She squawked, franticly trying to quickly move her arms as to not spill the coffee on either of them.

“Molly please, today, of all days, please allow me this.  I know it’s frustrating for you, the security detail, me being always underfoot, watching your every move, but please, just…trust me.”

She tilted her head upward so she could look at him.  He tilted his head down and their gazes met.  She smiled, lifting on her toes to kiss him. 

“Always.”

He relaxed.  Without releasing his hold on her, he reached over with one hand and turned off the emergency stop button. 

“Thank you.  I must leave in an hour.  Going to Sherrinford with Mycroft.  We both think it’s a good idea to see her together, especially today.  Please let Rodney do his job and protect you.  Promise me.”

“I promise.  I’ll even let him walk me home.”

“Take a taxi.”

“I will.”

“I love you.”

He didn’t say it much, usually showing her instead with little things he did for her.  She kept each time he had said them close to her heart, safe in a small secure place where she could take them out and remember them when she was alone. 

“I love you.”  She told him.  He kissed her, a hand lifting to stoke her cheek and cup her neck. 

They were standing apart by the time the lift doors opened revealing a worried looking Rodney standing in front of the hallway. 

“Will you come by after your finished?”  she asked as the three of them walked down the hall back towards the lab. 

He nodded. “Promise.”

 

 

* * *

 

It was late when he returned.  She was curled up on her couch in her pajamas flipping through channels when she heard the key in the lock and the door open. 

Sherlock walked in, shutting and locking up the door behind him before pulling off his coat and hanging it up.  He toed off his shoes and headed straight for the couch.   Molly barely had time to move before he flopped onto the couch and pulled her to him, wrapping his arms tightly around her and holding her close to him.  She maneuvered so she was more comfortable, wrapping her arms around his waist and settling her head against his shoulder.

“Rough?”  she asked, knowing he might not want to talk about it.  Those time he did go to visit his sister, he didn’t talk much about it, preferring instead to curl up on her couch with her and lose himself in crap telly.

“A helicopter ride trapped with Mycroft that last longer than an hour, is torture in itself.”

“You like your brother, quit pretending you don’t.” 

“Doesn’t mean spending long amounts of time trapped in close quarters with him isn’t still a type of torture.”  He rested his cheek on the crown of her head and they remained there in silence for a while.

“Let’s go to bed.”  She said. 

He drew in a breath and straightened, his fingers wrapping around her wrist before she could move completely away.  She looked at him questioningly.

“Does it bother you?”  he asked, his voice hesitant.  “That I don’t say the words all that often?  That I’m not the type to wine and dine you?  That I don’t bring you flowers or hold your hand in public?”

She pulled her arm from his grip and cupped his cheeks with both hands. 

“Sherlock.  Although I do like hearing you say it, if you never said those words to me again, it wouldn’t matter because I know you love me, you show me every day that you do.  I don’t need wining and dining, not when you bring me coffee when you show up in my lab, even when you’re with John and Lestrade.  You spend time with me in the lab, even when you have other things you could be doing.  You know when I have bad days or when I’m upset.  You bring me takeaway when I’ve had a long day and you hold me on days when I’m feeling a bit horrid.  I don’t need flowers or public displays of affection because you are plenty affectionate when and where it counts.  You know when I need you and for that I adore you.  A year ago, your sister did a horrible thing, but it had some beautiful results.  You have a sister.  From what I can glean from Mycroft she is getting better now that she has actual help and isn’t being treated as an asset.  You have friends, a family of sorts outside of your actual genetic family, we have each other.”

He pulled her close to him, his mouth meeting hers in a firm kiss that was tender and told her everything he wasn’t able to say.  Not at that moment. Maybe later, years down the line he would, but it had only been a year past, wounds were still healing.

“I love you absolutely, Molly Hooper.”  He breathed against her lips.  She smiled, her eyes still closed. 

“I love you too Sherlock Holmes.”  She whispered against his lips.  “Always.”

She met his kiss again, her arms sliding around his neck, fingers slipping into the hair at the nape of his neck causing him to shiver against her.  He pulled away, resting his forehead against her, his breath harsh against her skin. 

“Bed?”  he suggested.  “I need you.”

She nodded.  “You’ll always have me.”  She promised.

He stood and held out his hand to her.  As she took it, she caught a glimpse of something just inside the kitchen.  As they passed that area, Molly smiled at the vision of Mary leaning against her counter, a bright proud smile on her face.  With a thumbs up, she disappeared. 

_I told you so,_ Molly heard as the vision faded away.  She smiled, and gripping his hand tighter followed him into the bedroom. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy moly, it's been a year. One year since we got the "I Love You". Twice. This is my love letter to all Sherlollians. Those I have met and those whom I only know online. Those who have fought in the "wank wars", those who have written fanfiction, done fanart, manips, videos, or just flat out screamed in excitement with us this past year. I am so honored and privileged to know each and every one of you. Here's to many more years of friendship, however we get it.  
> Happy anniversary Sherlollians.  
> I love you.  
> I love you.


End file.
